


Sylvan Interlude

by Vera_dAuriac



Series: The Debts We Make [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, M/M, Public Masturbation, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos and Aramis have finally declared their love for each other. Tonight is finally going to be the night they are alone together...right?</p><p>"When Aramis kissed Athos again, Athos had to assure himself this was happening and that they had crossed a threshold to an understanding where he need not be frantic or fear it would slip away."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sylvan Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> While this is part of a series, I've done my best allow this story to stand on its own. However, I think reading in order is rewarded. Begin reading where you will.
> 
> Aramis and Athos don't belong to me, sadly, etc.
> 
> Takes place in my imaginary Season 3.

By Vera d'Auriac

After Aramis pulled Athos up on the bed, after Athos had at last repaid his debt to Aramis and performed fellatio on him, after they had said they loved each other, they lay enfolded together. At first they simply held each other, giving and receiving the physical contact they both so desired. But Aramis had always been attentive and thoughtful, and even if he were less so, he could not miss Athos’s erection pushing on his thigh. When Aramis kissed Athos again, Athos had to assure himself this was happening and that they had crossed a threshold to an understanding where he need not be frantic or fear it would slip away. So he tried to relax and enjoy Aramis’s tongue in his mouth, Aramis’s chest pressed against his, and most of all, Aramis’s deft fingers brushing against his cock through his pants. 

But before Athos reached that place of enjoyment, a knock on the door had them both leaping to their feet and adjusting their clothes. Aramis barely had his pants closed when Athos opened the door to see a messenger from Treville with dispatches and supplies. He informed Athos he would be back with more before they left in the morning, but that the Minister had sent him now with a first batch to make certain they had arrived safely at the inn. Athos thanked the messenger, took the dispatches and canvas roll, and sent the young man back to the chateau. 

Athos closed the door behind the messenger and studied the handle. He frowned. “There’s no lock.” 

Aramis pressed himself against Athos’s back, brushing aside the hair on his neck and kissing deeply just behind his ear. “If I hold you against the door, I promise no one will be able to open it.” 

But Athos had not so quickly forgotten what he had just realized—what they felt would not vanish. They loved each other, had declared it, and nothing could change that. There was no need to hurry. “You know what would happen if we were caught. If the messenger had arrived five minutes earlier…well, I would never be able to do what I was doing again.” 

“And you want to do it again?” Aramis whispered, so close to Athos’s ear his lips brushed against it. 

“Very much. Tomorrow night, we will find something more private. I promise.” 

“I don’t think you want to wait until tomorrow night.” Aramis reached around, stuck his hand down the front of Athos’s pants, and suddenly he truly did not want to wait, did not think himself capable. 

But another knock on the door interrupted them. This time it was a serving boy from the inn who wanted to know if they would be requiring a meal. Once he left, Athos pulled Aramis into a tight embrace, kissing him with all his ferocity and frustration. That lasted until someone else came to the door from the chateau with an invitation to supper if they were feeling well. 

“Thank his majesty for the invitation, but no, we are not fit to return to the chateau,” Athos responded. After this, they had no choice but to accept that this inn was not a safe place for them to continue their affections. The best they could manage after a long day of interruptions and preparations for their trip tomorrow was to rearrange the beds so they were pushed together side-by-side. They explained to the boy working at the inn when he brought them their supper that they needed to organize their gear, which was true, thanks to the large canvas Treville had sent, should they get caught in the rain. So that night they slept clothed, in separate beds, but close enough that they could slip their hands together under the blankets. 

The next morning they rose early and were on the road with the sun. Aramis chattered away about life at the monastery while Athos slowly got his wits about him. Late morning they reached a stream and stopped to allow the horses to drink. Athos splashed some water on his face, finally feeling a bit more awake, morning never being his preferred time of day. 

Aramis entwined his fingers in Athos’s hair, forcing Athos’s dripping face forward to his own. Athos did not think this stream, mere feet off a road on which they had already passed dozens of travelers that day, sufficiently private for intimacy. Yet when Aramis pressed his lips against his own, Athos kissed him back, unable to resist. 

“I can already hear your protest,” Aramis said, when he pulled away all too soon for Athos’s taste. “Sometimes I can’t help myself. Your lips are impossible.” 

They remounted and Athos at last felt ready for conversation. He told Aramis stories of Porthos and d’Artagnan that he would not have read in letters. He did his best to pass along news of d’Artagnan and Constance’s children, although he never seemed to know what to say about them. It was easy and beautiful, their simple talk of old friends, and something Athos had missed, not being one to converse comfortably with many people. But then Aramis decided they should talk about their relationship, and Athos wished them back amongst people where they would not dare bring up this topic. 

“Have you ever been with another man?” Aramis baldly queried to start the conversation. 

Athos intently studied the road ahead. “No.” 

“I only ask to gauge what you might know. What you may want.” 

“I…must we have this conversation?” 

“I rather think we must.” Aramis’s voice sounded light and jolly, but then again, he had always enjoyed talking about sex. “How else am I to know what I should do to you? Do for you?” 

“I assumed you would simply do what you will. I cannot imagine not enjoying it.” 

“But you have never thought, Athos, about whether you would prefer to fuck, or be fucked, by another man? We must, surely, begin there.” 

Athos cleared his throat several times before answering, “Yes and no. I…have only thought about whether I would prefer to take or be taken by you.” 

“And what did you decide?” 

“I did not.” 

Aramis reached across from his horse to rest his hand on Athos’s arm. “Then we will do both. It’s frankly my desire to do everything imaginable with you. That is not to say I don’t have some decided wishes at the top of my list. I know that look, Athos. Something is troubling you. Please tell me. Tell me everything. Everything you think and want. Why couldn’t you decide? Start there.” 

“I tried to figure it out,” Athos said, as always, powerless to defy Aramis, even though the whole humiliating experiment was something he longed to forget. But he dutifully told Aramis about his humiliating attempt to masturbate with his whip handle. And before he could convince himself to stop speaking, he hurried on and confessed to his trip to the house of custom when he asked about phalluses and was offered the services of a young man. 

“Segolene and Claud! You should have taken her up on that offer,” Aramis said. 

“What? How did…?” 

“Segolene often works with Claud, so I assume that’s who she offered to you.” 

Athos turned his face away, preparing himself to ask the question he already knew how Aramis would answer. “How do you know Segolene and…Claud?” 

“Most of the nights I disappeared and you and Porthos assumed I was with some women, you were usually correct. But sometimes I desired something different. I did tell you the seminary stories are shockingly accurate.” 

“Yes,” Athos answered, well aware of the additional education most boys received at seminary schools. 

“Well, sometimes I would visit Claud, with or without Segolene.” Aramis paused so long that Athos turned to him. A melancholy air had overtaken his demeanor, and Athos wished he had never asked about Claud. “I enjoyed giving and receiving with him. Really lovely experience. But we can begin our own experiences together tonight. Let’s just plan to make camp in the woods, so we don’t have to worry about locking doors.” 

Athos nodded, unable to contradict Aramis, the busy road likely leading to many full inns. In fact, Aramis had to fall in behind Athos to allow a wagon to pass them headed north. Tonight, he would finally have to decide what he wanted, at least to begin with. 

***

When he was a Musketeer, Aramis had grown used to dealing with whatever Mother Nature threw at him. A snow storm and twenty miles to ride? Well, that’s why Musketeers wore heavy cloaks. Blazing sun and no shade to be found? Well, that’s why the cloaks opened and could be tossed over the shoulder. But four years at the monastery seemed to have made him complacent, and when the rain began to fall, he squirmed in the saddle, wishing for dry clothes and something hot to drink. 

“How long should we ride today, do you think?” asked Aramis. 

Athos grinned at him. “Why? Can you no longer ride through a light, summer rain?” 

“No, I can’t. Heaven help me, did I once find this life enjoyable?” 

“You were always temperamental about the weather. One day snow was the most lovely of God’s creations, the next it was an abomination, not to be borne.” 

Aramis chuckled, seeing the truth of it. “Yes, I suppose that is true. So how much farther ought we to ride today to make certain of Paris tomorrow?” 

“It depends on what time you wish to enter the city. We could stop now and still make it before nightfall tomorrow. Is that good enough? It will make tomorrow a long ride, and there is no promise we will not have more rain.” 

“A compromise? Another hour today and then camp?” 

Athos nodded. “That should put us in a nice part of the wood to find a good camp site.” 

And so they rode on, although they did not make it a full hour before Aramis’s sighs convinced Athos he had found the ideal spot to make camp. Years of soldiering told Aramis he would regret this when he spent extra hours in the saddle tomorrow, but for now, all he wanted was out of his wet clothes. When he thought of peeling Athos out of his wet things, as well, Aramis found himself more excited than ever to make camp. 

“I think this is a good spot to string up the canvas,” Athos said, jumping from the saddle. He looped Roger’s reins around a tree limb and removed the canvas from the horse’s back. “We’ll get it strung up, build a fire, and change.” 

Aramis tethered his mare next to Roger, but rather than unpacking anything or helping Athos set up the canvas, he kissed the other man. With a hand on Athos’s cheek, Aramis pulled him closer, slowly moving his lips against Athos’s until he forced his tongue between those beautiful, scarred lips, tasting and savoring. When he finally pulled back from Athos, the other man buried his face in Aramis’s neck, kissing and lightly sucking. That is, until his mouth became a feather-light touch, running up and down Aramis’s neck. 

“We should make camp. Quickly,” Athos said. 

Aramis forced himself away from Athos, seeing the wisdom in his suggestion. With most of his skills either intact or returning to him with minimal effort, Aramis was able to help Athos make camp for them in a reasonable amount of time. The canvas strung, horses unloaded and watered, and a fire made, they were ready to get changed as the last remnants of daylight faded behind the gentle, persistent rain. 

The canvas was slightly angled against any wind that might come out of the west and to divert the smoke away. At the low end, they had to kneel, but at the top they could walk when crouched. Athos slipped all the way out of the shelter to take a rope from the pile of their equipment they did not have room for and did not mind getting wet. “I’ll string this up to hang our clothes from by the fire.” 

But Aramis did not wait for Athos to uncoil the rope or come back under the canvas. Instead, he went out to meet him, to pull him close, to kiss him with utter abandon. Athos eagerly returned the kiss, chucking the rope inside so as to free his hands, which began wandering Aramis’s body. Aramis was content to kiss Athos here in the light rain for a considerable length of time. Athos, however, moved his mouth away, moved it to just below Aramis’s ear at the junction of his jaw and neck. Aramis happily tilted his head to give Athos better access. When Athos licked from his earlobe to his shoulder, Aramis moaned. 

“Your smell,” Athos muttered as he moved to the other side of Aramis’s neck and inhaled deeply, before kissing his neck. “I love your smell.” His tongue pushed out and he dragged it down Aramis’s neck. “Sweaty leather mingled with that indefinable you.” Athos sucked at the hollow of Aramis’s throat, and Aramis thought his legs might give out, he suddenly felt so weak. “It’s the most extraordinary scent in the world.” 

Aramis could contain himself no longer. He began ripping at Athos’s clothes, Athos doing the same to him in turn. Their mouths met as often as they could in the frantic struggle to get one another naked. Soon they were in their linen shirts and underclothes, their desperate bid to remove their boots having tipped them on their asses inside the shelter and onto their blankets. 

Athos crawled into Aramis’s lap, grabbing him tightly by the back of his head to push their lips together so hard it hurt. But Aramis reveled in the pain, in the aches Athos could produce in him. He reached for Athos’s laces, as eager to hold the straining cock beneath as it was to be held. With some effort, Aramis pulled his lips far enough away from Athos’s to say, “Have you decided?” 

Athos’s look of hunger faded almost immediately, however, much as Aramis was certain his did. The unmistakable sound of horses approaching was quickly followed by, “Hello, there. Oh, thank heavens we found someone. Hello?” 

Athos stood up with a scowl and hit his head on the canvas. Rather than curse, as say, Porthos would have, Athos merely clenched his jaw more tightly, and slipped back out into the rain. “Are you lost?” he asked. “May we help?” 

***

The travelers, Pierre and his apprentice, Francois, were on their way from Paris to Brussels, and did not know the road well. Aramis admired Athos’s decency, offering them shelter and some of their food, but Aramis cursed at their lost night of solitude. But what else could they do? To shoo away travelers in the rain at sundown until they reached the next inn more than an hour away would be unbecoming a Musketeer. Aramis might want Athos to be as unbecoming as imaginable for him, but he would never ask Athos to sacrifice his dignity for anything, let alone sex. They had been waiting so many years. They could wait another night until they reached Paris and Athos’s own house. 

“We are on a comparatively safe stretch of road,” Athos explained to Pierre and Francois after dinner. “Yet, we should keep a watch. One of our horses might get spooked or a badger might try to find its way into our saddlebags.” 

Pierre and Francois were masons and used to hard work, but not irregular sleep schedules. The apprentice’s yawns during their meal indicated that it was near his bedtime, and he sagged in exhaustion at this mention. Aramis decided it would be only charitable to relieve them both of this worry. “We are Musketeers, or at the very least I used to be. We do not mind keeping the watches. You two rest.” 

With that settled, it did not take much longer for master and apprentice to bed down. Aramis had seen bedrolls like those they carried—not as durable as those the Musketeers used, but softer and more expensive. If they made a home in Brussels, then the bedrolls should do quite well for them; if they traveled much more, well, Pierre would soon be finding them something a bit less comfortable. 

Snuggled beneath their blankets, Pierre and Francois were soon asleep. Athos had finished cleaning up from supper and Aramis had laid out their own rolls. Since only one of them would ever be sleeping at a time, he doubled them up for maximum comfort. Athos, in a dry linen shirt and pants looked down on Aramis once he had repacked the cooking supplies they would not need in the morning. 

“Since you are so eager to keep all the watches tonight, would you like to go first?” Athos asked softly. 

Aramis smiled and nodded to the sleeping masons. “They’re tired. And Francois has some nasty saddle sores. He used a great deal of the balm. They need the sleep more.” 

“How are your own sores doing?” asked Athos, stretching out on the bedroll. 

“Healing nicely.”

Athos nodded and pulled the blanket over him before he turned on his side, his back to the fire and the masons. “Wake me in two hours.” 

“You won’t have even fallen asleep in two hours,” Aramis answered, scooting himself so that he sat next to Athos’s head and could speak even more softly when he leaned down. “Why not four? You need your sleep, too.” 

“But will you be alright that long? You’re a bit out of shape for this sort of thing.” 

“What? Sitting up at all hours of the night before sleeping briefly and getting up again? That is precisely what monastic life is.” 

“As long as you don’t mind,” Athos said, turning his face upward. The hint of a smile on his lips made Aramis want to attack him, company be damned. But he contained his impulse with a hard bite on his own lip. “I’m sorry we’re not alone. Tomorrow we will be in Paris.” 

And the things he would do to Athos…. 

Aramis took a deep breath, wondering if he should proceed with the idea that had just crossed his mind. He longed not only to indulge in all of the myriad pleasures he had been dreaming of for years, but he wanted to tell them to Athos. He wanted to know if Athos could find some measure of happiness in the mere idea of them. Some satisfaction. From what Athos had told him earlier about his failed attempt at masturbation with the whip, Aramis thought self-pleasure was an area in which he should help Athos. 

“And I have many plans, wishes, for what we shall do when we reach Paris,” Aramis whispered close to Athos’s ear. So close, in fact, that he brushed the ear with his lips. 

“Be careful,” Athos grinned. “They may not be sound sleepers.” 

“I have no doubt that they are both extremely deep sleepers, which is for the best. What I have to tell you is extremely scandalous.” 

“Aramis, say nothing you shouldn’t.” 

“But I must. I have to tell you how I wish to treat you when we get to Paris.” 

“Aramis,” Athos said again. The first time, his tone had been teasing, but this time, he sounded more stern. That only excited Aramis more. 

“I want to love you, touch you, fuck you until you forget who you are, until you have utterly relaxed and discarded this shell you have that holds you together. I want you to fall apart in my arms.” 

“Aramis. Stop,” Athos said, a bit breathless. “They might wake. And I, well, I have been uncomfortable, to one degree or another, ever since we made camp, and this makes it decidedly worse.” 

“Then relieve yourself. Go on. I will tell you where I intend to begin. First, with a bath to clean the road dust from your beautiful skin.” Athos groaned inarticulately, but Aramis could not detect any movement under the blanket. He obviously had to try harder. “When we get to your house, I’ll start heating the water, and while we wait, I’ll strip you naked. God, Athos, do you wear all those buttons on purpose to taunt me? I see them and all I can ever think about is undoing them.” Aramis could see Athos’s hand move down to his groin, but he stopped. Aramis, however, would do no such thing. “And your belts. Athos, do you have any idea what your belts do to your waist? I swear, I could almost come just thinking about touching your waist. My hands slowly stroking the sides, and then slowly moving to the front. And then moving back to grab you firmly and pull you tight against me.” 

And that almost did it. Aramis could tell Athos was haltingly opening his pants, but Aramis needed to get Athos’s hand on his cock. Aramis glanced over at Pierre and Francois, who both still appeared sound asleep, and yanked the glove off his right hand and draped it over Athos’s nose. He inhaled long and frantically, but more importantly, he clearly took a firm grip of himself. 

“Once I have you in the tub,” Aramis returned to his original fantasy, “I will clean every part of you, massage your aches away. I’ll rub your shoulders and neck, knead away the knots in your calves and thighs, massage your feet until you’re so relaxed you couldn’t even stand on them. And then I shall start on your inside.” 

Aramis paused to take a breath as he watched Athos speed up. His eyes were closed, so Athos had no idea how Aramis looked at him. Not that anything could have stopped Aramis from watching. God, what he wouldn’t give to have that blanket out of the way and the masons anywhere else in the word. “Athos, I don’t think you know what’s inside your own body. There is a spot, not terribly far inside you that when touched, oh Athos, it will make your cock twitch as though it has a mind of its own. It will twitch in your hand, my hand, my mouth, wherever it happens to be. And that’s only with my fingers. This is before I’ve even opened you up for me, before I’m inside you, sliding back and forth over that spot with my cock. And you’ll come, you’ll come so hard from the feeling of me inside you.” 

Athos reached up with his free hand and pushed the glove against his nose, and it was all Aramis could do not to touch himself. He longed to join Athos in this pleasure, but it would be impossible to explain that should Pierre or Francois awaken. No matter how hot and flushed he felt, he must do nothing other than make this beautiful for Athos. 

“But that’s only the beginning. I’ll hold you and touch you, kiss you everywhere until you’re hard again. And then you will find the same place inside me. And you’ll touch me and fuck me until I’m screaming your name like an endless prayer and you’ll come inside me. But we still won’t be done.” 

By the way Athos’s eyes were clearly rolling back in his head, even under his lids, and the way his pace had quickened and lost some of its rhythm, Aramis could tell he was nearly done. Just a little more. “I’m going to make you come over and over again, until you’re utterly spent and dry. By the end, you will forget who you are. All you will know is that you are mine.” 

Athos tried to choke back a moan, and Aramis knew he was on the verge of a noise much louder. Aramis pushed his still gloved left hand over Athos’s mouth to stifle his screams, and at last he came. Athos growled deep in his throat and Aramis pushed down harder until Athos bit into his hand. His jaw tightened and tightened on Aramis’s palm until he was entirely spent. Athos’s body went limp, save for his jaw, which seemed irrevocably clenched on Aramis. 

Brushing the hair off Athos’s forehead with his free hand, Aramis, after a quick check on their sleeping guests, bent over and pressed his lips to Athos’s sweaty temple. “I’m going to make you the happiest man in Paris, Athos. I promise you that.”


End file.
